Elementary, Dear Bookman
by the49thname
Summary: Lavi is a travel-worn historian looking for somewhere to settle. However a visit to London doesn't go to plan as he finds himself living with a young cheery detective by the name of Allen Walker. Who is this criminal group known as The Noah, and when exactly will Lavi be able to find a decent non-murdering tailor! Sherlock!AU, Lavi/Allen, possible other pairings, rated M.


London - the city of new beginnings, new starts and tentative first steps toward a new future. It was a city of golden opportunities, a place where one could start again and have a clean slate to work from for the rest of their lives. Known throughout Europe, and perhaps even the world, as one of the most prestigious cities in existence, people who came to London always held high hopes of what this place would offer them. Of course, every city has a face that no-one sees. London was no exception; slums, a huge divide between rich and poor, and the smog that hung in the air like a thick choking blanket.

It was most certainly a beautiful city, but it held deep dark secrets that lay hidden from the eyes of those who did not try to look.

It was for this reason that London also had one of the greatest, and one of the most powerful, police forces in the Western World. Scotland Yard was the most prestigious of these forces, and was considered one of the elite when it came to crime investigation. With direct funding from Her Majesty and the government, Scotland Yard was usually called upon for crimes conducted by the most intelligent and conniving of London's villains.

However, this was of little interest to Lavi Bookman. He had not come to London to feel protected, nor to discover the black face that was London's hidden side. No; Lavi had come to London for the ancient and rich history that surrounded the city's spires and streets. London had existed since ages past, and its somewhat bloody history was intriguing to say the least.

It was the year 1892, and the beginning of an Industrial Revolution meant that London was at the pinnacle of its development. It was literally history in the making, and that was what had led Lavi to walk down its cobbled streets. Having travelled across most of Asia and Europe, London was his last stop in his long list of travel destinations.

And it was in one small London café that Lavi was sitting in, feet propped up on a chair as he read a local newspaper. His clothes were dirty and threadbare; he had been saving his meagre funds for finding a place to stay in London, so therefore had not replaced his attire in quite a long time. So, whilst flicking through the pages of The Daily Telegraph and sipping from a steaming mug of coffee, Lavi searched for advertisements for a tailor.

He was in London after all, and it most certainly wouldn't be good manners to walk around its beautiful streets looking like a common tramp.

By the time his mug was empty, Lavi had managed to find a reliable (and somewhat cheap) tailoring shop near London's famous Oxford Street. Standing up, and giving the girl behind the counter a wink of appreciation for the excellent coffee, Lavi left the warm café behind as he headed down the busy street outside.

It was a chilly Saturday morning in mid-April, but nonetheless the streets were full of a variety of people from all walks of life. Rich nobles sat with lips in thin lines and noses held high in their horse-drawn carriages, heading to yet another party to advertise their money and business to other thin-lipped uppity rich nobles. Eager stall owners competed in somewhat absurdly loud voices with each other for customers to buy their goods, while filthy and shivering beggars sat nearby on damp newspaper with crudely written signs for spare change. Mothers with tired eyes held the hands of their hungry children tightly as they bought their weekly meal, and factory workers smoked foul-smelling cigarettes as they headed out for food on their lunch break.

And it was amongst this varied crowd that Lavi walked, eyes bright with excitement and lips pulled into an eager smile. People's concept of beauty was always limited to what was seen by most as beautiful, yet to Lavi beauty was what stirred the heart and left you awe-struck. The dark side of London was unarguably appalling, and the divide between rich and poor was something to be marvelled at, in some ways. But this just added to London's appeal in Lavi's eyes; he did not want some fairy-tail place where everything was good and proper. He wanted a place that represented the humans that resided within it, a place where the marks of the human race clung so tightly to every building and every cobbled street that the very air you breathed held so much history that you felt as if you were part of something marvellous.

That was why Lavi had come to London, a city to start his new beginning.

* * *

Just around the corner from Oxford Street, tucked away in a quiet corner, was Mark & Co. Tailoring. Passed down the generations from father to son, it was tradition for the children of the family that held ownership to this shop to work there. The current owners, Mark and his sister Moa, ran a successful tailoring business, providing fitted suits and dresses to the rich and famous of London's streets. However the clothing they offered was not at a ridiculous price, and even some of London's poorer inhabitants could afford some of their cheaper services.

The owners were not that cruel, after all.

Business was good at this time of year, so many customers came and went as the day passed. Because of this, the owners were in need of an assistant. Strangely enough, quite soon after they wrote a request in a local newspaper for a new worker 3 months back, a young man came to the shop asking for a job.

The man was poor at the time, brunette hair long and in need of cutting. His clothes were shabby at best, and his silver eyes were tired and red-rimmed from lack of sleep. He didn't even have a name to call himself by, having been orphaned as a child and never given a name to call himself by. So he was simply known as Red, due to the abnormal red scarring on his left arm and hand.

On this quiet mid-April morning, Red stood behind the shop counter serving customers. Usually he would stay in the store room and help with bringing fabrics from the store room to the main shop floor, but on this day Mark was busy running an errand so Moa requested that he help serve customers instead. Moa herself mainly worked in a small side room, sewing and repairing old worn-out clothes for customers asking for repairs, so someone was needed to serve whoever entered the shop while she was busy.

Daydreaming and staring out of the shop windows, Red tapped his gloved fingers lightly against the countertop. He was frightfully bored, for business seemed slow on this day and barely any customers had even entered the shop. Golden morning sunlight filled the room, warming all it touched. Outside on the quiet street people rushed to and fro, heading to destinations unknown to the young brunette stuck inside the shop. How nice it would be to stretch his legs for a while! But lunch break was not until gone noon, so Red would have to wait some time before he could step outside.

In response to thoughts of lunch, Red grimaced as his stomach grumbled noisily. He was very fond of food. In fact, very fond may not even cover his deep infatuation for it.

Just as Red's daydreams turned to platter-covered tables of various dainties and dishes, the ring of a bell signified that someone had entered through the shop door. Looking up, still somewhat lost in his food-filled thoughts, Red saw a man standing in the shop doorway.

Only a few years older than himself, the man had messy red hair badly in need of cutting (and washing, too). The stubble on his cheeks somewhat countered the freckles dotted here and there across his cheeks and nose, ageing him beyond his years. However, his jade-green eyes were young and full of life, and the friendly grin on his face warmed his features enormously.

The man spent some time looking around the shop, admiring the wood-panelled walls and the polished floorboards beneath his feet. After a little while, upon which he realised he was not alone, he looked up.

"G'mornin'!" the main exclaimed, stepping towards the counter. His accent was rather strange, but there was an unmistakable Irish lilt to his voice. "Think you can help me out with somethin' new to wear?"

Gesturing down at his somewhat threadbare clothes, the redhead gave a somewhat embarrassed smile. True, his clothes were in bad need of repair. His white shirt could barely justify being called white at all, and his trousers were ripped at the hems. The boots the man was wearing were also rather worn-out; in fact, Red rather wondered how far this man had travelled to get here considering how damaged they were.

"Well, I think I can be of service," Red replied with a smile, voice laced with well-disguised amusement at the redhead's predicament. "Are you wanting repairs done or something else sir?"

"Hey now, no callin' me sir. Name's Lavi," the redhead remarked whilst waving his hands in protest. "And somethin' new would probably be best."

"I quite agree… Lavi…" Red answered, unused to this sort of customer. "Now, if you will follow me to this fitting room I will take your measurements."

The fitting room was barely big enough for one person, nevermind two, so it was quite a tight fit with both Lavi and Red inside. With shelves full of measuring tools and several sheets of conversion tables, as well as many books, there was little room to move around in.

"Do pardon me for the small space, we do not have the funds to build an extension. If you will give me a moment, I need to tell the owner something."

And, with that, Red left Lavi alone as he went to find Moa. Folding his arms, peeking through the fitting room curtains at the room outside, Lavi found himself thinking about this shop worker. He was rather young; probably only a few years younger than himself. He had long brunette hair, tied in a loose ponytail with a red ribbon. The man was dressed smartly; white shirt under a black waistcoat, red ribbon tied in a bow under the collar, slim-fitted black trousers, and shiny leather brogues. Strangely though, the man wore leather gloves over his hands; as for why, Lavi was itching with curiosity to find out. His eyes, too, were a rather abnormal shade of grey, close in resemblance to melted silver. But that was not what intrigued Lavi most.

It was the fact that this man was undeniably a liar, and hiding something too. Very curious.

The man soon returned, giving Lavi a friendly smile as he asked him with the air of someone who had asked it many times to remove his clothing. How he managed that without embarrassment, Lavi had not a clue. However, Lavi had spent many a time changing amongst strangers in hostels, so it did not bother him to do such a thing before a tailor.

Soon enough his worn-out clothes were lying in a messy pile on the floor. Lavi stood shivering in the somewhat cold room, eyeing the brunette tailor carefully as he removed a small box from the bottom shelf before him. Opening it slowly, he removed a small measuring tape. For some reason he hesitated, holding the tape up at eye length and examining it closely, muttering words under his breath.

"Uhh… you quite alright there?" Lavi asked, frowning in mild alarm at this strange behaviour. Jumping a little, the tailor gave a quick smile before nodding.

"Sorry, I just needed to check it was the right one," Red replied, just about managing not to stammer. "Now if you'll raise your arms…"

Obeying the instructions given, Lavi narrowed his eyes as Red wrapped the measuring tape around his chest and waist. His movements were precise, almost calculated, but not done with the grace that one held when doing something they did often; this worker had not done this properly before.

Now why would a tailor not know how to measure someone?

Before Lavi could question this fact, the curtains were shoved open to reveal a rather irked middle-aged man. He was dressed in a similar fashion to Red, hair falling to his shoulders and combed neatly back away from his face.

Whoever this man was, he was royally pissed off.

"And what in God's name are you doing Red?!" the man demanded, seething. "I have told you many times to never enter here without Moa or myself present!"

"My apologies Mark, but Moa is very busy repairing the Duchess of Cambridge's cocktail gown and you were running an errand I believe?" Red replied slowly, not a hint of fear in his voice. His silver eyes narrowed as he stared down his employer. "How did this errand go, sir?"

The sir was said with as much sarcasm as Red could muster, and Lavi swore Mark's eyebrow twitched in annoyance at his worker's rudeness. The redhead tried his best not to laugh, albeit he was concerned as to what the hell was going on.

"None of your business, and if you wish to lose the job that is feeding and clothing you go right ahead and insult me a second time," Mark snapped, fists clenched.

"I was not insulting you sir, unless being called something of respect irks you so. If that is the case, I will call you something ruder and more insul-"

Red got no further, for Mark shoved him rather ungraciously into the shelves behind him. With a crash, Red dropped the box held in his hands as several books and a small worn box fell upon his head. Wincing, Red picked up the two boxes at his feet.

Lavi backed away as much as he could in such a small room, looking from employer to employee with wide eyes. What a bizarre fitting this was turning into! And he was naked to top it all off. Lavi wasn't sure how he felt about this last part, looking down at his unclothed figure with a frown.

For some reason the quiet extended beyond what was normal for an awkward silence and, upon looking up, Lavi noticed that Mark had an indescribable look of fear in his eyes. Rising slowly, Red opened one of the boxes he held in his hands; it was the one that had fallen from the shelf above him.

"Now now, Mr. Mark, this is somewhat intriguing," Red said softly. "Why would you be in possession of two measuring sets? They are rather expensive, are they not?"

"T-they are, but the older one has been passed down from my father and is too old to use so I bought another one recentl-"

"That may be true, but you have not used it once in the time since you bought it. You always use the same box when you give our customers fittings, this very box in fact. It has indeed been passed down from your father to yourself, considering the age of the wood and the scratches around the base indicating much wear-and-tear. But why, may I ask, was it hidden on the top shelf?"

Mark gulped audibly as Red continued to speak.

"I knew something was wrong when I saw the state of the measuring tape. You bought this new set soon after I started, so during these passing months the tape should show some signs of wear. But it looks just as pristine as it did 3 months ago."

"H-how could it not look brand new?! It's only 3 months ol-"

"A human's fingers leave sweat stains on the objects it touches and, considering you have something bordering on a health issue with your sweat levels, this measuring tape should most definitely be a little worn. The printed numbers at either end of the tape should be slightly faded, which they are not in the slightest. Now, Mark, why would that be?"

Mark didn't answer.

The man stood between Lavi and Mark had undergone such a transformation that both men were stunned. His voice had lost its polite tenor, his eyes had become cold and full of calculating thought, and he stood upright and tall, creating an imposing presence before them both.

Red smirked as he held up the measuring tape from the older box, opening it slowly and showing it to Mark with somewhat of an air of victory.

"A small needle, small enough to be inserted into the thick fabric of the measuring tape. And, if what I smell is correct, it is covered with enough cyanide to kill a person in a matter of hours. But your customers would not notice, would they? A tiny pinprick that could easily resemble the scratch felt from rough fabric. Very clever, in fact I would applaud you if you had not murdered 10 people from the nobility."

With a suddenness that made Lavi jump, Red knocked Mark to the floor and took out a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. Clasping them tightly around the tailor's wrists and yanking the man to his feet, Red turned around and gave Lavi a radiant smile.

"Sorry about that, seems you'll need to go to another tailor for some clothes. Better put some clothes on before Scotland Yard turn up."

Lavi blinked open-mouthed, unable to speak. Just as Red turned away he grabbed his shoulder, causing the brunette to turn around with a questioning glance.

"Who… who are you really?" Lavi demanded, frowning. "I mean, you're obviously not who you say you ar-"

"Guess you have to find out yourself. Pleased to make your acquaintance nonetheless. Now if it's quite alright with you, I need to arrest this man for mass murder."

And, with that, the brunette led Mark out of the fitting room and into the shop beyond.

* * *

The cell was cold. So cold, in fact, that one's breath could be seen as a pale ethereal mist. The cells of Scotland Yard were kept this way on purpose; prisoners were more likely to speak if they wished to return to their warmer, yet just as uncomfortable, living quarters.

Barren and devoid of any decoration, save for a plain wooden table adorned with a nailed-down candle and two chairs, this cell was used specifically for the art of interrogation and inquisition. The detectives of Scotland Yard would sit on one side of the table, while the prisoner being questioned would sit on the other side, handcuffed to the chair they sat upon.

Sitting with arms folded, expression devoid of emotion, was Allen Walker. Most viewed him as too young to be a detective, however his skills of deduction and insight were by far extraordinary. So it was with complete faith that the Chief of Allen's branch left the young detective in the bound hands of the prisoner before him.

"Let me make clear your situation. You will remain here until you reveal your motives for the murders you committed, and if these murders were sanctioned by another. If you refuse to comply with my questions, or if you show any signs of violence, you will be detained and beaten before being brought back here for further questioning. Is that quite understood?"

Mark nodded slowly, looking down at the table before him with a solemn gaze. Sighing and leaning back a little, unfolding his arms and placing them on the table before him, Allen gave Mark a small smile before he spoke once more.

"Enough with the pleasantries, I don't like the pompous detective act that much either." Allen laughed as he said this, interlacing his gloved fingers. "I have to do it as part of the job, but it's much easier to speak more… informally, shall I say?"

Mark did not reply, simply looking up briefly before returning his gaze back to the wooden tabletop.

"Did you kill all of them with cyanide?"

There was silence for a while then, after licking his dry lips and swallowing thickly, Mark spoke.

"… Yes."

His voice was hoarse and quiet, barely audible even amongst the silence filling the small cell. Nodding, Allen continued.

"And did any of them realise what you had done?"

"Not to my knowledge, no."

"Were these people picked at random, or were they targets?"

Mark was silent for a while, the slightest hint of tension entering his body as his shoulders stiffened and his breath quickened. Allen tilted his head in curiosity.

"I repeat; were these people picked at random, or were they targets?"

No answer.

"Mark I don't wish to have you hurt, but I am on a time limit and I will order you to b-"

"Yes."

The air in the cell seemed to become heavy, as if an invisible fog had filled the room and invaded the lungs. Mark started to show signs of anxiety, body shaking ever so minutely as he stared downwards with vacant wide eyes and a parted mouth, lips dry. Allen's eyes narrowed as he leant forward, choosing his words carefully before he spoke.

"Who's targets were they?"

"I can't tell you."

"You have to, I'm afraid. I will not let you leave until I know. Now tell me; who's targets were they?"

"I-I can't tell you, I'm sorry."

"Who's targets were they?"

"No, I can't. I can't tell you!"

"Tell me who's targets they were, for God's sake!"

"No! I can't tell you, I just can't please don't make me!"

Mark voice was raised, and his gaze was now fixed on Allen's own. His dark eyes were full of panic, and an increasing level of fear seemed to build inside of him. What was he so scared of? That was the main question filling Allen's mind at this moment. What could possibly frighten him so much that he would be so vehemently against telling him who he was working for?

Sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, Allen stood up and left the room. He was beginning to feel hints of anger and frustration within him, and nothing was more foolish than continuing questioning when not calm. Stood outside, arms folded, was the Chief of the branch that Allen worked for. Closing the door quietly behind him, Allen turned towards his superior and scratched the back of his head.

"Well, he's definitely working for someone. As for who, I don't know. I feared he would enter a state of panic if I continued so I'm giving him a small break."

"I hope this isn't out of sympathy, Allen…"

"Of course not, Komui. I just don't see the point in questioning someone in an irrational state of mind."

"… If that's the case, resume questioning in a few moments. We need to know who he's been working for. This is the fourth case now involving murders of high-up members of society."

"I know. Don't worry, I'll find out."

"Kanda's waiting nearby if you'll be requiring… assistance."

"I don't need assistance from that idiot! I'll be fine on my own; no offense meant to your orders, but I don't work well with him."

"I know, I know, but Lvellie will be giving me hell if I let you go easy on this man."

The two of them shared a laugh, both smiling. Then, with a respectful nod, Allen returned to the cell behind him. Feeling more calm and collected, he sat down once more.

"I have just spoken to my superior. I'm afraid some lunkhead of an idiot will be called if you don't answer my questions, and believe you me I don't want that fool here as much as you do."

No reply was uttered from Mark's lips; he remained in stony silence, face devoid of any perceivable emotion.

"Will you answer my questions?" Allen asked softly. "It'll get us both out of here sooner that way."

A heavy silence filled the room for a long time, interrupted only slightly by the sound of muffled footsteps from the corridor outside every now and then. Neither of them spoke, Allen keeping his gaze fixed on Mark. He had "worked" for the man for a few months, and knew that despite killing 10 people he actually wasn't that bad of a man. Which is why Allen knew with such certainty that he had to be working for someone.

"… If I do, you have to promise me something…"

The sudden remark startled Allen a little, causing him to lean forward and his silver eyes to widen.

"I will do my best," he answered, resting his hands in his lap and frowning a little. "What is this promise?"

"Please protect Moa… and Claire."

Mark looked up as he said this, eyes pleading and lips quivering. He was scared for his sister; as to why, and as for who Claire was, Allen was yet to find out.

"I will do my best," Allen replied softly. "Now, please tell me why you did this."

"I was… asked to kill these people," Mark began, voice trembling. "All I was told was that they were rich nobles that had connections to important businesses. I-I was told that they needed to be t-taken out. I… I didn't have a choice. My wife, Claire, she… she's dying. I couldn't afford her treatment, it was too expensive! A man… a man came to see me in my shop. He said he could help me, but only if I did what he said…"

"Who was this man?"

"He didn't give a name. He wore very smart clothes, and he… had a very odd pocket watch. It looked like a human heart, a real human heart…"

Allen was silent for a while, stuck in contemplative thought. He could not remember a single case that he had read about in which such a man was mentioned, nor a man who would pay for some lowly tailor's wife to receive treatment in exchange for targeted murders.

Who was this man?

"He must have some connection," Allen murmured after a while, frown deepening. "Did he mention anything to you? Anything at all?"

"He barely said a word to me. He visited me after every… every time I did what he asked, and gave me an envelope full of money for Claire's treatment. He kept to his word. She's recovering in St. Barts right now…"

"Are you sure you don't know anything? Anything at all?"

Mark shook his head.

After a while Allen got up with a sigh, adjusting the ribbon under his collar with irritation. Just before he stepped out of the door, he heard Mark's chair screech against the floorboards.

"Wait!"

Turning around, Allen stepped towards the handcuffed man and gave a nod.

"There… there was something. In my waistcoat pocket, I-I can't get it myself but there should be something in there. I forgot to take it out…"

Confused, and somewhat curious, Allen took a step closer towards Mark and reached into his waistcoat pocket carefully. In there, folded neatly in half, was a business card. There was a small symbol in the corner, a character from a different language that Allen did not recognise, and two words.

The Noah.

* * *

By the time Lavi returned to London's streets it was well past midday. After putting his clothes back on, and cleaning the fitting room up a little since he felt bad about the mess, Lavi found himself comforting a rather distressed Moa over her brother's arrest. She said she had no idea any of this had happened, and put it down to her brother's wife being so ill.

After patting her shoulder so many times Lavi thought his hand was going numb, he bid the upset tailor goodbye and hurriedly left the shop looking exasperated. Feeling hungry, and somewhat dissatisfied, Lavi headed towards the city centre in hope of cheap food and somewhere warm to sit and eat. Eventually he found yet another small café along Baker Street, entitled Speedy's.

He rather hoped this was referring to the speed of their service.

Sitting down at a small rickety table at the back of the café, Lavi sat with his second newspaper of the day, kindly left behind by a previous customer, looking for a place to stay. Since his attempt at getting new clothes had been foiled by a kid detective and a murdering tailor, Lavi decided he was better off sorting out his living arrangements over his clothes.

He would rather do without a repeat of that morning.

There were few advertisements for places renting out a room, which was not uncommon at this time. People did not trust easily, and time had long since passed since people let strangers into their homes. At least, this was common in this area of the world.

Sighing and finishing his bowl of soup, which wasn't bad for the price he paid for it, Lavi found his thoughts drifting back to the morning just gone. Who was that guy? Playing covert and spying on a tailor, who had killed 10 people of the nobility for God knows what reason, and then charging off with a smile as if the whole debacle was normal?

And being so young too… Lavi had never seen a member of the police so young.

Giving up on housing, he decided to peruse through the newspaper for mention of this unknown detective. There was a reasonably large article about a burglar caught red-handed, in which Scotland Yard was included but no detectives of note were mentioned, and a few smaller articles referring to a lowering crime rate and safer streets courtesy of Scotland Yard, but nothing more.

"Dammit…" Lavi murmured, sipping at his coffee with a scowl. "Shabby clothes, nowhere to live, and no idea who to thank for my morning being ruined; what a day this is turning into."

After a while, during which he finished his coffee and the small bread roll provided with his soup, Lavi folded the newspaper up and left it on the table for another customer to read. Picking his used dishes up and placing them on the nearby counter, the red head gave the waitress behind it a beaming smile.

"That soup made my day!" he cried, stretching his arms out and trying not to yawn. "Hope it keeps me goin' while I look for somewhere to stay."

"You need somewhere to stay, sir?" the waitress asked, cheeks flushed as Lavi's eyes focused on her own. "W-well, if I remember rightly, the lady upstairs has been needing a new tenant for her other room, sir."

Eyes widening, Lavi leant forward and gave the startled woman a hug and a huge grin.

"Looks like you just made my day twice! Remind me to treat you to dinner sometime!"

And, with that, he left with a parting wave and wink, leaving the waitress rather red and flustered. As Lavi exited the café he saw a door to this left, entitled 221b in rather ornate bronze lettering with a large silver knocker beneath. Heading up the concrete steps to the door, the red head lifted the heavy knocker and let it drop a few times.

Hearing a small crash, causing him to frown a little, the door eventually swung open to reveal a slightly panicked woman. She was a few years older than himself, dark curled hair tied back in a tight bun away from her face. It aged her quite significantly, as did the dark bags underneath her eyes. However, the woman had a pretty face and was wearing a well-fitted beautiful black dress, adorned with lace and silk. She also seemed nice enough, so Lavi extended a hand and gave her a welcoming smile.

"How ya doin', name's Lavi," he stated, friendly and frivolous as always. "Heard you had a room you needed fillin'."

"O-oh! D-do come in, we've been needing a tenant for some time!" she cried, stepping away from the door and managing to trip over an umbrella in the process.

Entering the building cautiously, watching out for objects he could trip over, Lavi helped the landlady up and looked around at his surroundings. The place was lovely, he had to admit. The walls were covered with navy blue wallpaper, and there was soft beige carpet underfoot. Just ahead of the doorway was a chest of drawers made of oak, a large crystal bowl filled with flowers adorning the top. Beyond that, to the right of the stairs heading upwards, was what appeared to be the kitchen.

"T-the room is upstairs," the landlady stated. "Please take a look around as you please. I'm Miranda, b-by the way. Very pleased to meet you, sir."

"Nice to meetcha too, but please call me Lavi. That 'sir' stuff really doesn't suit me, ya know."

Giggling a little at his response, seeming a little embarrassed by the red head's informal countenance, the brunette stepped aside from the stairs, fell straight into the chest of drawers with a crash, turned around to give Lavi a radiant smile, then hobbled into the kitchen.

"Well… this could be interesting…" Lavi murmured, blinking a few times in shock. After admiring the hallway for a little while, he decided to head upstairs to take a look at the room. Hoping it wouldn't be too expensive, especially considering how well-decorated and furnished the place was, Lavi headed up the stairs. There was a small platform halfway up, with another set of stairs heading up behind as you went upwards. His boots made heavy noises against the wooden floorboards, and he felt somewhat self-conscious of his presence as he made his way to the second floor.

It was then that Lavi noticed one of two things.

One, there would be one other tenant living upstairs with him, who had already lived there a while judging by the homely feel of the place.

Two, he knew who lived there.

"Oh. Hello. Didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Standing at the top of the stairs, dressed in the same clothes he was wearing this morning, was the young detective Lavi had met earlier. His hair was in a loose ponytail, the ribbon around his neck left untied and dangling under his shirt collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal a heavily scarred left arm and disfigured left hand.

"Yeah. Likewise," Lavi breathed, barely able to say a word amongst his surprise. It seemed the man before him was just as much in shock as he was.

"What… are you doing here?" the man questioned, frowning as he took a step towards Lavi. "Were you that eager to find out who I was that you stalked me?"

"Now you're gettin' a little ahead of yourself there," Lavi replied with an awkward laugh, raising his hands in defence against the detective's words. "I had lunch in the café downstairs and they said there was a room goin' here. I've just come to London so I needed somewhere to live. I had no idea you were stayin' here."

After a while, the detective laughed and extended a hand.

"Do pardon my words, I'm feeling a little strange today," he said cheerily. "The name's Allen Walker, very pleased to meet you."

And, as he spoke these words, Allen fell backwards with a heavy crash.

"W-woah, you alright?!" Lavi cried, running up the stairs and kneeling beside the fallen man with a worried frown. Allen's face was covered in sweat, eyes barely open and lips parted as he let out gasps for air. Tremors had started all along his body, and his skin was beginning to pale.

What on Earth was going on?

"O-oh, well this is rather strange," Allen murmured quietly, blinking rapidly as he fought against the urge to sleep. "I… I can't seem to breathe very well…"

"Jesus, talk about dramatics," Lavi said under his breath, shaking his head a little at the lunacy of it all. First he meets this man as a fake tailor, accusing a man of murder as he stood there unclothed, and then he turns out to be living here and nearly fainting for some unknown reason!

And it was as this thought came to mind that Lavi suddenly realised what was going on.

"Wh-what're you doing…?" Allen asked, voice slurring, as Lavi began to remove his shirt. "If this is foul play I will have you arreste-"

"Oh shut up would'ya?" Lavi snapped, undoing the last of the shirt buttons and pushing the fabric aside. There, on the underside of Allen's upper arm, was a tiny scratch. It was as if it was done by the finest needle, a very fine needle in fact…

Mark had shoved Allen into the shelves of the fitting room. Allen himself would have been too focused on the books falling on his head than the tiny scratch against his arm, nor that there would have been the smallest tear in his shirt.

Which meant cyanide was currently coursing through Allen's system, and he would soon be a dead man.

Getting up and pelting it downstairs, breathing heavily, Lavi ran into the kitchen to find Miranda sitting with a cup of tea at a small dining table. She stood up in alarm and nearly dropped her tea cup as he came crashing into the room.

"Wh-what ever is the matter?" she squeaked. "I-is something wrong with your room? I've kept it in as best a condition as I could, I couldn't help about the rats thou-"

"I need you to do somethin' very important for me," Lavi stated, reaching forwards and clasping her small hands in his. She gave another squeak. "I need you to go to the nearest shop and buy the following things."

Looking around and spotting a small pad of paper and a pencil on a nearby countertop, Lavi wrote down what he required and handed it to the quivering landlady with a serious expression.

Nodding and saying nothing, Miranda left the kitchen and hurried out of the front door, slamming it behind her. Breathing a sigh of relief, Lavi headed back upstairs to find Allen sat upright against the doorframe to his flat, breathing heavily.

"Mark… did this, didn't he…" Allen panted, eyes screwed shut. "And I just… put his wife and sister… under the protection of… Scotland Yard, that bastard…"

"Stop talkin' and rest," Lavi demanded, kneeling beside the fallen detective with a worried expression. "I just sent your landlady out on an errand, should be back soon."

Nodding and trying to stay awake, Allen clutched a hand against his throat as he struggled to breathe. Lavi did nothing but keep a close eye on him, keeping note of his breathing and the rise and fall of his chest.

After a little while the front door opened and the sound of footsteps made both Allen and Lavi look towards the stairwell. Miranda flew up the stairs with a paper bag in hand, panting for breath with flushed cheeks. Upon seeing her fallen tenant, she gasped and nearly dropped the bag she was holding.

"O-oh, Mr. Walker! A-are you alright?" she cried, rushing forwards and clutching his free hand tightly. Allen gave a small smile and nodded.

"Just feeling… a little ill… thank you, Miranda…" he breathed. "Now give… that bag to Lavi… would you?"

Miranda nodded and passed the paper bag to Lavi. Inside was a raw slab of meat wrapped in several layers of newspaper, and two small bottles; one was labelled as a cleaning chemical, the other as a euphoric drug for pain relief. Opening the two bottles and pouring them over the meat, Lavi used a small pocketknife from his trouser pocket to cut the meat into chunks.

"Don't question, just eat it. I'll explain later," Lavi ordered. He placed each chunk individually into Allen's hand, watching carefully to make sure he ate each one before giving him another. Within a few minutes all of the meat was gone, and Allen looked rather ill.

"Now can I ask why you made me eat raw steak covered in cleaning fluid and Liquid Gold?" Allen said hoarsely, coughing and trying not to gag at the disgusting taste in his mouth. Lavi tried not to laugh.

"Cyanide is a hard poison to cure, but a few chosen ingredients do the trick just fine," the red head stated with a grin. "Raw meat, cleanin' fluid, and the drug called Liquid Gold all contain chemicals that are a natural remedy to cyanide poisonin'. Cyanide stops you breathin' properly, so ya need chemicals that help you breathe better."

Allen would have been more impressed if he didn't feel close to throwing up.

"I see. Now that my mind is clearing, I can remember someone mentioning mafia bosses in Italy eating raw meats to postpone their death if they were poisoned by other members," Allen murmured, swallowing thickly. "You have my thanks and gratitude."

Miranda patted Allen's hand before getting up and heading downstairs, murmuring something about needing another cup of tea after so much stress. Neither Lavi or Allen said anything for a while, and a mutual comfortable silence filled the stairway before Allen gave a quiet cough.

"It's 4 guineas a week," he stated, shooting Lavi a weak smile. "I know you can't afford that for more than a few months, so I have a proposition for you."

"… I'm listenin'…" Lavi answered, voice quiet.

"Work with me. Scotland Yard could always need more help, most of them are complete idiots, and your skills of deduction and general knowledge are above average to say the least. And," Allen said before Lavi could interrupt, "I'm not just saying this. Honestly, you would be very useful and good to work with. It'd earn you a reasonable wage too."

After a moment of silence, in which Allen extended a trembling hand, Lavi rolled his eyes a little and resisted the urge to laugh at how crazy his life was going to be as he shook the hand before him.

"Sure, why not, got nothin' better to do. But next time, you owe me. I ain't savin' your life everytime you get poisoned by a tailor."


End file.
